


Perception is Nine-Tenths of the Law

by Amorette



Category: Hercules: The Legendary Journeys
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-26
Updated: 2015-08-26
Packaged: 2018-04-17 07:02:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4657110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amorette/pseuds/Amorette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if everybody in the Hercverse was a just a little different?  And how in Tartarus did it happen?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perception is Nine-Tenths of the Law

**Author's Note:**

> This may be my first completed HtLJ story. Just a warning.

PERCEPTION IS NINE-TENTHS OF THE LAW  
by Amorette 

Someone was pounding a spike into the back of his head. A sharp, nasty spike, being pounded with a rhythm that surged pain through him in time to his heartbeat. Then there was the vise squeezing his temples, trying to crush his skull. The churning and burning that swirled up from his belly just added to his misery. The feeble whimpering sound that was coming from somewhere very close by didn’t help either. He wished whoever was making that annoying noise would shut up or as soon as he could lift his head, he’d kill the whiner. After a moment, he realized he was the one making the sound.

What did he drink last night? From the fur that coated his tongue, he guessed it had included the uncleaned skin of a camel among the ingredients. 

Very gently, he tried to move and was rewarded with the vise around his head tightening suddenly. On second thought, he’d just lie here until he recovered enough to die.

“My, my, my!”

The voice was loud, familiar and disgustingly cheerful. It boomed inside his throbbing head and made his teeth ache.

“Here you are, buddy.” A strong hand grabbed the back of his tunic and jerked him to his feet. “Whoosh. You look like Hades decided you were too foul to even let into Tartarus.”

Mumbling, he replied, “That’s how I feel.”

“I should just let you suffer but I am feeling way too good for that!”

That voice. Why did it have to be so loud? Couldn’t he just whisper? He thought about telling the man who was holding him to lower his voice when his gorge rose and he thought he was going to be sick.

“No you don’t!” boomed the voice. “Not in my temple you don’t.”

Blue light flashed agonizingly in front of his eyes. He would have cried out but he was in too much pain to do anything but hang limply in the other man’s grip as fire ran down every nerve in his body. Just when he thought he would die, unable to stand any more suffering, the blue light faded, taking the worst of the pain with it. Now he only had bad headache, a sour stomach and a mouth that tasted as if armies had marched through it barefoot. In other words, compared to how he had felt moments ago, pretty decent.

Cautiously, he opened as eyes as he let his legs take his weight, so that he was no longer hanging from his collar.

The face in front of him was handsome, with waves of curling dark hair framing it, intense dark brown eyes and a dramatically trimmed beard framing a broad smile.

“Better?”

“Um, yeah.” Iolaus carefully disengaged himself from the god’s grip. “Thanks, Ares. I feel. . .almost human.”

“Ha!” 

Ares slapped him on the back so hard Iolaus fell his knees.

“Where were you last night?” asked Ares, his voice still making Iolaus wince. “There were some very tasty virgin sacrifices waiting for us.” A dramatic pout formed on his face. “I had to take care of all them by myself.”

“Sorry,” Iolaus mumbled, brushing off the front of his black leather vest as he stood up and wondering why he still felt so peculiar. Everything seemed normal enough. He was in Ares temple, dressed in his usual black leather vest, trousers, boots and black silk tunic, his black-hilted sword at his side. Ares looked perfectly normal, if a bit more cheerful than on an average day.

“Well, I hope you enjoyed yourself at least half as much as I did because you look ten times worse!” The god laughed at his joke, until he saw how Iolaus was swaying on his feet, rubbing his temples. “That must have been some drinking party. I am so disappointed that you didn’t invite me.”

Iolaus saw the ball of blue light coming but there was nothing he could do but stand there as it ripped through him again. When the blue light and the pain dissipated the second time, he felt physically much better but mentally, he was even more confused. He was about to ask Ares about that when the god grabbed him by the shoulders, hugged him against himself and said, “We’re late and Xena is not known for her patience.”

This time the blue light didn’t hurt. It just made everything spin. When the world settled down again, Iolaus was standing next to Ares in the anteroom of a large, ornate tent that obviously belonged to a warrior. There were spears stacked along one wall, a table spread with a map, and extra armor waiting for its owner on a stand by the curtain that separated the rear of the tent.

“Honey,” chirped Ares, pushing Iolaus away so he could use both hands to smooth his hair. “We’re here!”

The curtain was thrown back and Xena, warrior princess, strode into the room, sword in hand, a look of fury contorting her beautiful features. Pointing the sword at the God of War, she snarled, “Where have you been?”

Ares tugged on the front of his vest as if to straighten it. “I had some worshipers to attend to. I am a god, you know.”

The point of the sword moved to hold steady in front of Iolaus.

“And you?”

Before he could answer, Ares started to laugh. “You should have seen him this morning! I don’t know what he was drinking last night but he looked ten days dead.”

The snarl faded from Xena’s face and she looked almost concerned as she tossed her sword to lie on the map table. “Drink is going to be the death of you, Iolaus.”

“He’s just bored,” said Ares, “waiting for this damned war to get properly started.”

“We all are,” sighed Xena, before brightening and adding, “but now the two of you are here to cheer me up.”

Xena flung her arms wide and pulled both men into an embrace, her hands knotting in their hair. First she gave Ares a long, deep kiss, then bent her head to Iolaus to give him the same.

Peculiar. That was the only word that came to Iolaus’ mind as he returned the kiss. He found Xena incredibly attractive, found her body pressed up against his arousing, found thoughts of what the three of them could do in the pile of furs in her private room more than tantalizing but at the same time, he wasn’t in the mood for sex. Xena sensed his disinterest and yanked his head back to stare into his eyes.

“Iolaus, what’s wrong? Didn’t Ares cure your hangover?”

“Took two shots,” explained Ares, pulling away so he could start another bolt of blue brewing in the palm of his hand. “Maybe he needs another.”

“No, really.” Iolaus held in his hands up. “I feel fine. I just don’t feel like that.”

To his surprise, Ares laughed and slapped him on the back again. Iolaus thought about telling him not to do that but decided against it.

“I know you, Iolaus, my friend. You like to make war, not love!” Ares winked. “But then, you don’t have Aphrodite as a sister, do you?”

“I don’t think I have a sister at all.”

Ares laughed again but Xena was staring intently at him, a frown creasing her forehead. She reached out and touched his cheek, her voice concerned. “Is that it, Iolaus? Not enough bloodshed for you? I promise, two days, three at the most, if this damned rain ever lets up. Then we will have such a bloodletting that even Iolaus the Bloodrinker will be satiated.”

He found himself surprised by her statement. He was Iolaus the Bloodrinker, huh? That didn’t sound at all familiar.

“It’s just the hangover,” he lied. “And no, Ares, I don’t think another bolt will help.”

The god shrugged, rubbing his fingers together so that blue lightning in his palm melted away. “Suit yourself, buddy.”

“Well then,” said Xena, in a slow,sultry voice, “I guess I’ll have to make do with just you.”

“Just me! I’ll show you. . .”

Ares pushed Xena backwards, behind the curtain. Scant seconds later, Iolaus heard armor hit the floor and Ares began to moan. He hesitated a moment, then shook his head sharply, promptly regretting the movement. There was a cloak hanging by the curtain that lead outside, black sealskin with a crimson silk lining and a silver death’s head as the clasp. Iolaus hooked the clasp around his throat, knowing that the cloak fit him perfectly because it was his, but he couldn’t actually remember wearing it before.

He stepped out of the tent but remained standing under the awning that protected the entrance. Xena was right about the damned rain. It was pouring in sheets from the overcast sky. The ground between the tents was running mud because of it. There was no way a battle could be fought under these conditions. The rain was so heavy, no one could see properly and footing would be impossible. Still, Iolaus could check the lines and see what the enemy was up to. Whoever the enemy was. 

He barely stepped out from under the awning when an officer ran to his side, saluting. “My lord. How may I serve you?”

“I want to inspect the camp and I want to examine the line.”

“Yes, my lord.” The man saluted again. “Where shall we start?”

Iolaus pointed at random. 

“The armory. Yes, my lord.”

The cloak was a good one, keeping Iolaus warm and dry as he followed the officer. It must have cost a fortune. His hands rubbed the silk, trying to remember the first time he wore it. Was it a gift from Xena or Ares? Or had he claimed it as booty?

As they approached the tents protecting the arms, the guards out side snapped to attention. It was then that Iolaus noticed how everyone fell instantly silent at his approach, every face averted but every eye on him nonetheless. And in every face, he saw what he saw on the features of these guards. They were big men and looked to be battle-seasoned veterans, with scars too numerous to count, and well-used weapons at their sides, but the look in their faces was one of abject fear. They were terrified of Iolaus.

The officer accompanying him leapt forward to pull back the flap, taking care not to let so much as the hem of Iolaus’ cloak brush against him.

The armory was well-organized. Iolaus ran a practiced eye over the racks of weapons, most of them wrapped in oiled cloth to protect them from rust. A boy, a slave most likely, was rubbing a stone across the edge of a spear. When he looked up and saw Iolaus approaching, his face went white and he dropped both stone and spear. As he realized what he had done, the boy’s face took on a look of doom.

For an instant, Iolaus considered pulling his dagger out of his belt and slitting the boy’s throat. Yet, as his hand slipped around to the small of his back, he was surprised to find no dagger there, not even a sheath to hold one. That was odd. Didn’t he always carry a dagger in the back of his belt?

When nothing happened, the boy babbled his forgiveness, picked up the spear and the stone and scrabbled away on his knees. The officer, his face nearly as pale as the boy’s, seemed braced for an explosion.

“Adequate,” said Iolaus automatically. “Now take me to the line.” 

“My lord.”

It was hard going, slogging through the mud and rain, but Iolaus had no where else he could think of to go. He certainly didn’t want to go back to Xena’s tent, which could be seen in the center of the encampment, the center pole swaying as random bolts of blue light flashed around it like mast lightning. He thought he had his own tent but just at the moment, he couldn’t remember where it was exactly and he certainly wasn’t about to ask anyone for directions.

So, he followed the officer through the rain, automatically making note of defensive positions as he walked. The officer was telling him who commanded which company and where each would be positioned when the time actually came for battle. Iolaus barely listened, nodding or grunting a wordless acknowledgement when it seemed called for. Mostly he watched the way everyone fled his approach. Some men, upon looking up and seeing who was walking towards them through the downpour, managed quick salutes and then obviously found a terribly important reason to stride away in the opposite direction. Some leapt to their feet and practically ran over the man next to them in their hurry to escape. Some actually skittered, like frightened rats. No one, not the most fearsome of the men, not the highest ranking of the officers, ever met his gaze.

“My lord?” 

Iolaus realized they had reached a covered observation platform, set amongst some trees. He climbed up, the officer following. As his head came into the small upper room, both of the men there turned pale as they backed into the far corner.

Through the rain, it was almost impossible to see anything. All Iolaus could tell was he stood on the high ground looking into a broad valley, cut by a meandering stream that was obviously flowing over its banks, to a mass of tents and men on the far side. He tried to see if he could figure out where the sun was in relation to his position but he couldn’t. He thought he was on the north side of stream, which meant his enemies would have the sun in their eyes, provided the sun ever returned. Zeus must be angry with his son to create such a storm and delay Ares’ plans.

The officer was at Iolaus’ side, still carefully keeping his distance. He pointed.

“King Jason is in the middle, of course.”

Iolaus nodded. He couldn’t have told what any of the standards were. They all hung limp and soaking in the grey light.

“General Iphicles is to the west. He’s had to withdraw further up towards the other forces because of the flooding.”

Iolaus looked where the officer was pointing. The tents were pushed close together, well above what would have been a flat spot more suitable for camping but the stream was beginning to claim that ground for itself.

“And to the east.” The officer’s voice trailed off and he swallowed nervously. “Hercules.”

Hercules! The name made Iolaus clutch the railing in front of him with white-knuckled hands. What was there about that name that sent such emotions through Iolaus?

In a hoarse voice, Iolaus commanded the officer. “Tell me more about Hercules’s position.”

“Yes, my lord. Ah. . .his adjunct, the woman Gabrielle, she guards his flank opposite King Jason. She leads the archers that the Amazons contributed to the army. Hercules has infantry, no cavalry or artillery, just the best hand-to-hand to fighters.”

“Then they’ll be held in reserve until after the first wave.”

“That would be most logical, my lord.”

“But Hercules isn’t a man to hold himself in reserve.” Iolaus considered. “How many men does he have? How many archers? Do we know the names of these elite? Do we know their strengths and weaknesses?”

The officer didn’t answer. Iolaus could hear his breath coming more raggedly. Finally, his voice actually shaking in fear, the officer said, “I don’t know, my lord.”

“Who does?”

The officer gasped. He obviously had expected something much worse to befall him than a calmly asked question. “I. . I think I know the man. Shall I fetch him for you?”

“Yes.”

He heard the officer practically leap down the ladder in his rush to find someone to answer Iolaus’ question. Behind him, Iolaus could hear the two observers, whispering to each other. If he turned his head slightly, the hood of his cloak let him catch their words.

“He’s the Bloodrinker?” the first man, his accent showing him to be Macedonian, whispered. “He’s so small.”

“Shhh. Don’t let him hear you say that! He’ll kill a man for suggesting his size has anything to do with anything. And believe me, I’ve seen him fight. He can kill more men than someone twice his size, three times. He’s a berzerker in battle. Even Xena herself is said to fear him when he’s in a temper. That’s why she goes to such effort to keep him placated. He’s her finest warrior but he’d no doubt kill her in a second if it suited him and if he thought Ares would let him get away with it.”

“But don’t they call him Xena’s lap dog?”

“Only people who don’t know him. He’s far more wolf than lap dog.”

I should kill both of them, thought Iolaus. Just turn around and run them through. Or maybe see if I can take their heads off in one stroke. Oddly, the idea wasn’t as appealing as he thought it might be. He dismissed it, and the two men, and stood staring out into the rain.

Iphicles. He could picture a tall man, handsome, with light brown hair, dark eyes and an annoying manner. He wasn’t certain why but he didn’t like General Iphicles, although he couldn’t remember meeting him. As for Jason, King of Corinth, that brought up another tall, dark-haired man, older, wiser, more deserving of Iolaus’ respect, a worthy enemy. Then there was Hercules.

Iolaus closed his eyes. He could see the figure of Hercules clearly, as if the man himself were standing in front of him. He could feel those blue eyes on him, studying him. And yet, the loathing that Iolaus felt for his enemy in general didn’t seem to apply to the image he conjured up in his mind’s eye.

There was a sound behind him and he spun, his sword drawn from its scabbard without conscious thought. The two observers cowered as he turned, trying to squeeze behind each other in their corner. A head came up through the door and the officer, his eyes going wide at the sight of the sword point aimed at him, babbled, “I have. . .I have the spy. . .my lord.”

“Oh, yes.” Iolaus sheathed his sword, disappointed that he hadn’t really needed to use it. He followed the officer down to meet a large, meaty man, dressed in near rags and armed only with a long dagger. 

“My lord” He tugged at his forelock, then seemed to decide that because he was so much larger than Iolaus, the gesture wasn’t adequate and dropped to his knees in the mud.

“I want you to tell me everything, every last detail, about the forces under the command of Hercules.”

“Yes, my lord.” The man began a long recitation of names, many of which Iolaus recognized. The spy described, in considerable detail, what armaments each warrior was known to carry and where they were likely to be positioned when the time came for battle. Against his will, Iolaus was impressed.

“You seem to be very well-informed. Why is that?”

The spy raised his head and became the first man to look directly at Iolaus all day. “I’m good at my job, your lordship.” He licked his lips. “One of the Amazons is my sister. She fled to the tribe to escape her husband. She thinks I am on her side.” The man smiled, showing rotten teeth and his true nature. “Stupid woman.”

Iolaus had to agree. He knew better than to trust anyone implicitly. He didn’t even completely trust Xena, as she also did not trust him. Just because they fought together and laid together was no reason to throw away caution.

“If you are this current on news,” --the man had mentioned a warrior who had joined the enemy’s cause only the day before--”then you must have a way to cross the lines unseen.”

The spy looked nervous, and averted his eyes from Iolaus’ face. Gnawing at his lip, the man muttered, “I have my methods.”

Before the spy had a chance to draw another breath, he was flat on his back in the mud, the rain pouring into his mouth, the point of Iolaus’ sword pressed against the hollow at the base of his throat.

“As you may have heard,” hissed Iolaus, “I am not a man who tolerates insolence.”

“Forgive me, my lord,” cried the man, trying to catch the hem of Iolaus’ cloak and press it to his lips. “Take pity on me!”

Iolaus snapped his cloak away from the man’s filthy grasp. “Pity is something I do not understand.”

The man’s eyes closed and his lips moved in a prayer to Hades. 

“However, I do appreciate usefulness.” Iolaus sheathed his sword, again disappointed that the blade was returned to its scabbard unbloodied. “Show me how you cross the lines or I’ll cut out your liver and have it for lunch.”

The spy scrabbled to his feet, keeping bent over in a posture of subservience. He knew that Iolaus had not made an idle threat but a statement of fact. “This way,” gasped the spy, as he started towards a clump of willows.

“My lord.” The officer caught at Iolaus’ arm. “Do you think you should risk. . .”

Finally, the steel of Iolaus’ sword was wet with blood. The officer, clutching the bone deep gash on his shoulder, dropped to the ground. Iolaus jerked the officer’s short cloak free of the man’s neck as he fell and used it to clean his blade. Then, ignoring the gasps and murmurings behind him, he gestured to the spy to lead on.

Pulling his ragged garments close to his body, the spy led Iolaus through the willows and around to a bluff beyond. Here, even his sealskin cloak was not enough to keep Iolaus dry as the two men waded through hip deep water. On a dry summer day, this would be a spit of sand, protected by willows and rock, perfect for a private bathing spot. The stream curved slowly here, providing a ford that lead to another sand bar on the opposite side. Iolaus was surprised to realize that neither side of this upcoming battle had a decent view of this little stretch of stream. When he got back, he would have to report to Xena and make sure that was watched from their side.

When he got back. He stopped, staring at the willows on the far side of the stream. He could see the cut in the bank that showed the normal high water mark and the water was well above it. Crossing this creek would not be easy, and there was nothing he could learn on the other side that had not already been reported to him by the spy shivering at his side. So why was he quite sure that he was about to get himself completely drenched crossing to the other side?

Even in the water, Iolaus was faster than the spy. He turned and caught the man’s wrist before the knife had reached its goal, using his weight to spin both of them around, pinning his attacker against a rock. He bent the man’s wrist until the dagger was pointed back at the spy’s throat. The spy may have been the larger man but Iolaus was the stronger, and the more accustomed to fighting for his life.

“Why?” asked Iolaus, holding the dagger so it just pierced the man’s skin. 

“Because there is a bounty on your pretty yellow head,” hissed the spy, his eyes narrow. 

“King Jason wants it on a pike, does he?”

The spy laughed. “He’s not the only one! You have many enemies, some of them in this camp.”

“And you thought you’d take advantage of our being alone together to try to collect.” He laughed at the spy’s realization that Iolaus was going to be the victor. “You should have stuck to betraying your family. You’re good at that. You are a terrible assassin.”

He wedged the body under the rock against which the man had died, not wanting the body floating downstream and calling attention to Iolaus’ disappearance. Before stepped into the flood, he stared down at the dead man’s face, disgusted. The spy was traitor, using his sister’s love against her, and a fool, for thinking he could succeed where so many better men had failed, at killing Iolaus.

Sliding his sword up on his back, Iolaus stepped into the stream. Fortunately, in spite of the quantities of water overfilling the stream, the current wasn’t strong. Only in the center did Iolaus have to swim a few strokes. He reached the far side quickly, pulling himself to the shore along the trunks of half submerged willows. Once he was out of the water, he crouched among the trees, studying his enemy’s camp and wondering what he was doing there.

While he pulled off his boots and dumped water out of them, he considered his position. He was supposed to be Xena’s right hand warrior, Ares’ second favorite mortal. He was Iolaus the Bloodrinker, vicious, cruel and heartless. He was certain that was who he was supposed to be but sitting there, sodden, he didn’t feel that way.

He stared at his hands. He could picture them covered in blood, could hear his own voice screaming in a battle frenzy, could imagine the bodies piling up at his feet, and those images sickened him.

“What is the matter,” Iolaus muttered, clenching his fists. “We’ve been waiting here for days for this battle. . .”

He knew, as surely as he knew his own name, that he had been waiting impatiently for this battle for days, yet he couldn’t remember clearly anything that he had done in the past few days. For that matter, everything before this morning was hazy. He closed his eyes, hunching over as he pressed the heels of his hands against them, trying to recall something clearly from before this morning. He could remember being in bed with Xena, her hands pulling his head down to hers to kiss him fiercely, but when had that happened? Yesterday? A week ago? A year? He could remember fighting and killing but nothing specific. And he could remember being disgusted by watching young men die so that warlords could extend their grasp.

Standing up, Iolaus walked towards the enemy camp, keeping close to the trees to avoid being seen. He climbed carefully up a bank of earth, keeping his belly pressed to the ground. At the top, he could lie against the cold, wet earth and see the far edges of both camps.

How many men? He knew Xena commanded well over 10,000. Jason must have close to that number. If both forces were decimated, a reasonable expectation in a battle like this, than there would be at least 2,000 bodies to bury or burn. How many women would be left widowed, how many children fatherless, how many parents would weep as armies returned home without their sons?

And for what? To please Ares? So that Xena could extend her rule over more land that meant nothing to her? To satisfy his own blood lust?

The sound of voices froze his thoughts. Women, several of them, talking as they walked. The Amazons, he thought.

Six women passed, dressed for battle, in leather and armor. They were tall, long-legged, well-muscled, ready for war. A seventh women stepped out of a nearby tent and Iolaus felt his heart skip a beat.

She was small-boned and delicate, with pale red hair that quickly turned dark in the rain. 

Gabrielle. He knew her. He knew she was brave, true and pure of heart. And young. And innocent.

Iolaus suddenly felt old. He had to be nearly twice her age, certainly old enough to be her father. He had seen so much death and betrayal. How could he let this sweet girl die; or worse, be hardened and corrupted by the killing she would have to experience to survive?

The Amazons walked on after a brief consultation with their commander. Gabrielle, her head uncovered even in the continuing drizzle, was walking towards where Iolaus lay. He slid back down the bank, waiting. 

When the cold hand grabbed her ankle, Gabrielle let out a short shriek. Before she could make another sound, she found herself held tightly in the grasp of a soaking wet man wearing black. They stared at each other over his hand covering her mouth.

She knew who he was. Iolaus could see recognition in her wide green eyes. He bent his head close to her ear so he could whisper, “If you make a sound, I’ll kill you.” Unlike his earlier threats, he knew in his heart he could never harm this woman.

Gabrielle nodded once. He let his hand slip below her mouth.

“You’re Iolaus the Bloodthirsty, aren’t you?”

“The Bloodrinker,” he corrected wearily.

“Right. I knew that.”

They looked at each other, expressions of confusion on both faces. She had heard of this horrible man but looking at him, he didn’t look horrible. Actually, he looked quite the opposite. He looked rather nice. 

“Um.”

“What?”

“What are you doing here?”

Good question. Iolaus was surprised by his answer but the moment he said it, he knew it was true. “I’m here to try to stop this war.”

Gabrielle didn’t mean to make the sound but it slipped out of her mouth before she could stop it, a fluttering of her lips that indicated she did not believe him. The sound, and the look of embarrassment on her face when she realized what she had done, made him smile.

Iolaus the Bloodrinker, thought Gabrielle, has a very nice smile.

“I know it sounds incredible. . .”

“I was going to say impossible.”

The smile flickered across his lips again. “Impossible may be the right word but it’s true. I am here to try to stop this war before it gets any worse.”

Iolaus the Bloodrinker had lovely blue eyes, more aquamarine than robin’s egg, with laugh lines around them. His hair, even though it was soaking wet, still managed to curl across his cheekbones. When it was dry, Gabrielle found herself speculating, it must be positively golden. She shook herself mentally.

“Why would you want to stop a war? I thought you liked wars even more than Xena.”

“Well.” Iolaus shook his head. “I guess I’m supposed to like wars but, for some reason, today. . .I just don’t feel like killing anybody and I don’t really want to see anybody killed.”

“Let me get this straight. You want to stop the war.”

Iolaus sighed. “Yes.”

They studied each other. Iolaus realized she was as young as she looked, her soft skin unmarked by time or trouble, but her eyes showed an old soul, one strong and resilient. Her lips, the lower one being worried by the her top teeth, looked so soft that he found himself wanting to kiss her.

“Do you want me to take you see King Jason?”

“No.” Iolaus considered who he did want to see. “Hercules. Take me to Hercules.”

Gabrielle peered over the little bluff. She knew where the guards patrolling the camp’s perimeter should be. Because of the weather, no one else was outside of a shelter. It should be easy to get Iolaus into to see Hercules. What would be hard was convincing Hercules that Iolaus was telling the truth. For some reason she could not explain, Gabrielle believed what this strange man in black had told her but she wasn’t sure Hercules would be so trusting. 

The guards has passed behind a row of tents and the next group wouldn’t approach for several minutes. 

Grabbing Iolaus by the wrist, Gabrielle hissed, “Come on.” 

Moving as fast as they dared through the slick mud, Iolaus and Gabrielle sprinted between the tents. She chose a path that would keep them moving along the backs of the rows of tents, weaving erratically to avoid being seen, until they approached a tumble down stone building that had been temporarily converted into Hercules’ headquarters.

Before they approached the two guards at the entrance, Gabrielle reached over and pulled Iolaus’ hood down until it shadowed his face. She didn’t know how many of their forces had encountered the Bloodrinker in battle but she didn’t want him recognized now.

The guards saluted as Gabrielle approached. Although they both looked Iolaus over carefully, they said nothing as Gabrielle informed them he was someone Hercules needed to see. She was as trusted as Hercules himself.

“Wait here,” Gabrielle hissed, pushing him into a small anteroom near the entrance. “I’ll bring Hercules to you.”

Then she was gone. Iolaus stood, shivering, wondering if he had been cursed by the Furies for some reason. Why on earth was he here, about to face a very powerful enemy who probably would have paid a bounty for Iolaus’ head himself? Why wasn’t he in bed with Xena and Ares, enjoying whatever the two of them could dream up, warm and sated and dry. 

Hercules entered the room behind his lieutenant, a deep frown on his handsome face. Gabrielle had been very mysterious about some man she wanted him to meet. If it was just another warrior to join their side, she could have brought him into the main room to warm by the fire.

Iolaus turned away from his study of the rude carvings shepherds and wood cutters had been left behind on the stones of the walls, pushing his hood back as he did so.

For one heartbeat, the two men stared at each other. Iolaus opened his mouth to greet the bigger man when Hercules, his eyes blazing with fury, strode forward and grabbed Iolaus around the throat, lifting the him off the floor, the sealskin cloak slipping to the floor as the clasp was torn off.

“Hercules!” cried Gabrielle, clutching at his free arm.

“You bastard,” snarled Hercules between clenched teeth, “If you came here thinking you could trick us you are sadly mistaken.”

Iolaus couldn’t say anything. The hand on his throat was like iron pincers, cutting off all hope of air and life. He knew it was useless but he still tried to pull those fingers off his windpipe.

“Hercules!” Gabrielle yanked on his tunic, desperately trying to get him to release the other man. “Please! Listen to him!”

Hercules looked down at her. “Gabrielle, are you insane? Do you know who this is? This is Iolaus the Bloodthirsty!”

“It’s Bloodrinker and yes, I know. Please!”

The grip on Iolaus’ throat loosened just enough that he could draw a gasping breath. He coughed, horribly aware of how he hung in Hercules’ grip as if he were a fish on hook. Knowing he had only a few seconds to save himself, he looked deep into Hercules’ eyes and repeated Gabrielle’s plea.

“Please.”

The frown on Hercules’ face deepened, then his expression began to change. There was something in that man’s face, in those eyes, that made Hercules hesitate. This was supposed to be, next to Xena, his most mortal enemy. He hated this creature with every fiber of his being yet, those eyes, something in that face, struck a chord in Hercules that he couldn’t explain.

The world was vanishing in a pounding, pink-tinged rush when Iolaus felt himself drop and land in a heap on the floor, gasping and choking. Gabrielle was at his side, helping him sit up, brushing his hair back.

“Are you all right?” she asked, her voice full of concern. Hercules snorted in disgust at her tone.

“He can’t be “all right”, Gabrielle. He’s the most sick, vile, evil. . .”

Hoarsely, Iolaus interrupted. “I get your drift.” He tried clearing his throat but it just made the pain worse. Unsteadily, he lurched to his feet and raised his gaze to meet that of his enemy.

“I know how this sounds. I’m Xena’s best boy and Ares’ dearest friend but believe it or not, today, I’m not feeling the least bit bloodthirsty. I honestly came to try to find a way to stop the war.”

The two men looked at each other as Gabrielle stood between them, nearly holding her breath. Hercules’ eyes narrowed as he studied the face of this man, this creature of darkness. He should hate Iolaus, loathe this man who thrived on death and destruction, yet the person standing in front of him, rubbing his bruised throat, didn’t seem to stir in Hercules the emotions he expected. Somehow, in the other man’s gaze, he didn’t see death but life, a weary hope that somehow, tomorrow would be better than today.

“I can tell you everything you need to know about Xena’s battle plan,” Iolaus was saying, even though Hercules was too confused to listen closely. “I know every commander, every company, every position, every strategy. If I tell you, you can get a message to Xena. If she knows how much you know, she’ll know how hopeless an attack would be.”

“What’s in it for you?” Hercules voice was still dripping with suspicion.

Iolaus shrugged. “Nothing.” He sighed. “I just don’t want to see ravens circling over a field of death, that’s all.” His hand brushed tears back, surprised to feel them welling in eyes. “I imagine you’ll throw into your deepest, darkest prison, if I don’t get hanged at dawn, but at least a few lives might be saved in exchange for mine.”

“This is ridiculous!” Hercules turned, slapping the wall with one hand. “This has to be a trap!” He pointed a finger accusingly at Iolaus. “You’ll give us false information. . .”

“To what end? I’m telling you, if I tell you what I know and Xena finds out I told you everything, she’ll withdraw. She doesn’t like to fight when she knows her enemy knows her plans. She likes to think herself too clever to lose.”

“Won’t Xena come looking for you?”

“Probably. But if she knows I told you her plans, it won’t be to rescue me.”

Gabrielle asked, “What about Ares?”

Hercules muttered an obscenity under his breath. “My half-brother is said to be very fond of you.”

“So I gather.” Iolaus thought for a moment. “He won’t be fond of me now. Which, for some reason, doesn’t seem to upset me at all.” 

Hercules kept staring at the wall in front of him, not wanting to turn and look at other man. He should order Iolaus dragged off to Jason’s camp, where the King employed men skilled at learning information. But the thought of Iolaus spread-eagled on a rack, or with brands burning into his flesh, sickened Hercules.

“I’ll have to talk to the others.”

“Fine. I imagined you would. I’ll come with you if you want.”

“No.” No. Jason would have Iolaus under torture before Iolaus had a chance to plead his case. “Come with me.”

Iolaus and Gabrielle followed Hercules a few paces down the corridor, to a ladder leaning against the wall. Hercules pointed up and Iolaus and Gabrielle obeyed his command.

The ladder lead to a trapdoor that opened into an attic room with a steeply pitched and poorly repaired roof. There were small windows on two sides, covered with heavy bars. Four chains with manacles were set into the stones of the walls. 

“Remember when Xena held this valley? She used this room for her own foul purposes.” Hercules snatched up a manacle, a large collar meant to be placed around a neck. “You probably know exactly what went on here.”

Iolaus didn’t answer because he had no idea what had happened in this room. Reluctantly, he let Hercules take his sword away, then snap the heavy iron collar around his throat, his captor giving a tug on the chain to see if it was still seated securely in the wall. 

“Watch him,” ordered Hercules. “I’ll be back with our decision as soon as I can.”

Exhausted, Iolaus sank to a seated position, leaning back against the wall holding his chain. He was cold and hungry and becoming more and more convinced he was losing his mind. The manacle rubbed painfully against the bruises purpling his throat. As he tried to adjust the collar of his tunic to protect his skin against the rough metal, he noticed how Gabrielle was staring at him again.

“What?”

“Hercules is right not to trust you.”

“Of course he is. I’m Iolaus the Bloodthirsty.”

“I thought it was Bloodrinker.”

“Whatever.”

“He does, though.”

“He does?” Iolaus was genuinely surprised. “What makes you think that?”

Gabrielle shrugged. She sat down, just outside of his chained reach, bending her legs and resting her chin on her knees. “I’ve known him a long time. I can tell. You got to him.”

The faint smile that made Gabrielle’s heart skip a beat flickered across Iolaus’ face. “I hope he can ‘get to’ Jason and Iphicles. Ow.” 

“What’s wrong?”

“My hair’s caught.” He tried to disentangle his long, wet hair from the hinge of his collar, pulling it painfully as he did.

“Here, let me try.” Gabrielle knelt next to him, carefully freeing his hair.

“Thanks.” The smile again, this time so close and so beautiful, it made her knees weak.

“You’re welcome.”

“I hope your bringing me here won’t get you in trouble.”

“Oh, no. I’m sure everything will turn out fine!”

Closing his eyes, Iolaus leaned his head back against the wall. His voice fell to a whisper. “I wish I had your faith. Even if I succeed, I fail because Xena and Ares are certain to get me for this.”

“So, why are you doing it? I know I keep asking but,” Gabrielle blushed, even though Iolaus couldn’t see her. “I like to keep records of everything Hercules does. I’d like to be able to put in my scrolls an explanation for why you changed sides.”

“I’d like to have one myself.” He tried turning the manacle a little but it didn’t help. “Maybe I’m going crazy. I’m certainly rotten enough to deserve a curse by the Furies. At least I think I am.”

“Rotten or crazy?”

Iolaus opened his eyes to meet Gabrielle’s as he laughed. “Both.” He shook his head. “I have just had the strangest day. Ever since I woke up, everything has felt. . .” His hands groped the air, as if they could find the word for him. “Wrong. No, just not. . .” He pushed his hands through his bangs. “I’m not sure I can explain but, it’s as if I were hearing a familiar song played on a lyre but all the strings were out-of-tune. I feel as if I’m. . .somebody else. Does that make sense?”

It was Gabrielle’s turn to shrug. “If you’re not you, who are you?”

“I don’t know. That’s another thing. We’re the sum of our experiences, wouldn’t you say?”

“Yes. That’s part of what makes us who we are.”

“So how come I don’t remember any experiences?”

“You don’t remember. . .”

Forgetting for a moment that he wore a manacle around his neck, Iolaus started to lean forward, choked himself, and leaned back again before trying to explain to this sweet young woman something he didn’t understand himself. 

“I know I’m called Iolaus the Bloodrinker but I don’t know why. Is it literal? Have I actually drunk my enemies blood?”

“I don’t know.” Gabrielle was worrying her lower lip again. “I can’t remember hearing any stories about that myself.”

“I know I’m Ares’ best pal but I can’t remember a single specific moment with Ares. Or Xena. I get these flashes of faces and events but nothing I can latch on to. I can’t even tell you what I did yesterday!”

He sighed again, slumping back against the cold stones. “Maybe it’s just the damned hangover but ever since I woke up this morning, I have felt completely confused.”

“Hangover?”

“Oh, yeah.” Iolaus laughed weakly. “It was a dandy. I don’t remember what I drank but I felt so awful this morning, it took two of Ares’ blue bolts to even get me upright and I still felt. . .what?”

Gabrielle stood up and started pacing the small chamber. She was speaking but more to herself than Iolaus.

“I know exactly how you feel. Exactly! Out-of-tune, that’s it!” She stopped in front of the chained man, staring down at him. “I had a hangover this morning, too.” Then she smiled triumphantly, as if that explained everything.

“Really? You don’t look like the type . . .damn it, my hair’s caught again.”

“Here.” She pulled a cord out of her own braid and, as she freed his hair from the hinge, tied it back. 

“Thanks.” 

They stared at each other for a moment, both aware of how nice it had felt to be so close to each other, for him to feel her hands smoothing his hair, for her to feel those silken tendrils slip through her fingers.

“So, anyway,” said Iolaus, as the pause grew uncomfortably long. “How come you were getting drunk?”

“I don’t know.” She sat facing him again, legs bent, chin on her knees. Frowning in concentration, Gabrielle said slowly, “I went walking last night. I don’t remember why but I wanted to be by myself.”

Iolaus leaned forward as far as he dared. “I did, too. In the woods.

Their eyes met.

“I came across a ruined cottage. . .”

“Some old woodcutter’s hut. But it was occupied. . .”

“Someone turned it into a tavern. There was music. . .”

“Flutes, and someone singing in language I didn’t recognize.”

“I went in because it was starting to rain.”

Iolaus cupped his hands and stared down at them.

“It was. . .blue.”

Gabrielle moved one finger, stirring an imaginary cup. “It looked like melted marble, with white and gold streaks in it.”

“It tasted funny.”

“Sweet. There wasn’t the burning you usually feel.”

“I don’t remember anything after that until I woke up on the floor of Ares’ temple with the worst hangover of all time.”

“I woke up in my bed and I was so sick. Hercules brewed up some potion and made me drink it. I felt better after that.”

“What happened to us?”

Neither of them could answer the question that both had asked in the same instant.

He had to ask. 

“Are your memories all missing or is that just me?”

“No. I know exactly how you feel. I know I’m always at Hercules’ side but I can’t recall actually being there.” She leaned closer to him. “I don’t hate Xena, either. When Hercules was going on about her this morning, how evil she is, how she has to be stopped at any cost, I kept thinking. . .maybe she’s not that bad. Maybe she could be redeemed, if someone tried.” She shook her head. “That’s even more insane than having no memories.”

“No, it isn’t.” Iolaus had to look away from her before he kissed her so he glanced out the window. “I knew I should hate Hercules but I didn’t. I know how I should feel but that’s not how I do feel. Does that make sense?”

“No.” She made the noise with her lips that had made Iolaus smile before. “But nothing has made sense today.”

“We have to do something!” Iolaus suddenly cried, grabbing the chain that held him to the wall and pulling on it, even though it knew it had to be secure. The light tug Hercules had given it was no doubt many times stronger than anything he could muster.

“Wait here!”

Gabrielle disappeared down the trapdoor, leaving Iolaus to try to get comfortable while he waited. She reappeared a moment later with his cloak over one arm and a long walking staff in the other. She was also carrying a large key.

“You’re sure about this,” asked Iolaus as she fitted the key into the manacle. “Hercules will be furious.”

“Not if we fix things.”

Iolaus let out sigh of relief as the iron collar dropped back to the floor. He had to hold his cloak shut with one hand, the clasp missing. Gabrielle arranged it to again shadow his face, then pulled her own hood over her head.

“Where are we going?” he asked as they climbed down the ladder.

“To find that hut. Unless you have a better idea.”

Iolaus didn’t. He just put his head down and followed Gabrielle as she lead them outside. The guards had stepped inside to avoid another downpour and didn’t even notice as two cloaked figures scurried past the anteroom and out into the rain.

Iolaus hadn’t thought it possible for the rain to be heavier than it had been earlier that day. He was wrong. He could barely breathe as he slipped and skidded his way through the mud after Gabrielle. They slid down the bluff where he had first seen her, taking what shelter they could in the clump of willows there.

“Was the hut on this side or the other?” she asked as she tried to shake the worst of the water off her cloak.

Iolaus shook his head. “No idea but let’s not cross here.” He swallowed against a rise of bile. “There’s a body under that rock.”

She looked at him, puzzled. “Did you find it or put it there.”

“Put it there.” He had to swallow again, wondering if he could control his nausea at the thought of the slit throat of the dead spy. “He tried to kill me. For the bounty. I have lots of enemies.”

“He tried to kill Iolaus the Bloodthirsty. That’s not you.”

“Isn’t it?” He touched her chin as Gabrielle tilted her head to look at him. “We aren’t sure, you know.”

“I am.” She could look very defiant for someone with such gentle features. “You are not Iolaus the Bloodthirsty.”

“Bloodrinker.”

“Whatever.”

“So, where now?”

They stood side by side, studying the willows that lead into the forest proper. Finally, Iolaus pointed to a rock, a granite point sticking out of the ground to near shoulder height. Gabrielle nodded, and they set out, Iolaus slightly in the lead.

He was cursing the broken clasp on his cloak as they pushed through the wet branches. If the cloak didn’t do such a good job of keeping him dry, he’d abandon it rather than try to hold it closed at the throat. For the tenth time, he stopped to yank a branch free of his hood. Gabrielle ran past him to stand in a small clearing.

They hadn’t been following a proper trail, more of an animal track, skirting patches of bracken, ducking under branches hanging low in the wet air, choosing their route more by instinct than intent, working their way into the heart of the forest, where the thick growth of trees provided some protection against the rain.

Pushing his hood back, Iolaus watched Gabrielle as she turned slowly in a circle, holding her staff out like a dowsing rod.

“There!” she cried as she sprang forward to disappear between two bushes. Iolaus quickly followed and found himself standing outside a familiar hut.

The roof was thatched, still in decent repair, the walls rough cut logs stacked with mud for chinking. There was no door, just a leather curtain hung in the doorway. A wattle chimney rose at one end, a unshuttered window provided some light at the other. The doorway was so low that even Iolaus and Gabrielle had to duck as they entered.

Iolaus has expected to find nothing beyond a rough pallet or a pile of wood. He was pleasantly surprised to see two barrels set up below the window, a plank laid across them, to serve as the counter of the tavern, and several stools scattered around the small space. Someone had used this place to provide entertainment for the troops. 

Outside, the thunder cracked unexpectedly and both Iolaus and Gabrielle jumped, laughing when they saw how they both reacted.

“So,” muttered Gabrielle, leaning her staff against the wall so she could start inspecting the room. “Let’s see if we can learn anything.”

Iolaus doubted it. The hut had been used, recently, by someone as a tavern but there was nothing in it to suggest that the tavern hadn’t been perfectly ordinary. While Gabrielle peered into corners and under stools, Iolaus shed his cloak to crouch in front of the fireplace. There was dry wood, tinder and, he discovered to his delight, a good-sized piece of flint. By the time Gabrielle had finished her fruitless search, Iolaus was feeding a merry blaze.

“We need to find something,” she said, squatting next to him to warm her hands.

“What? A note from whoever was responsible that says ‘Dear Hercules, Iolaus really isn’t a bloodthirsty maniac, please don’t go to war with Xena.’ “

Gabrielle turned to him, her expression surprised. “Of course. We need to remember who did. . .whatever was done.” She closed her eyes tightly. “I remember the music.”

Iolaus didn’t close his eyes but he did try to cast his faulty memory back to the night before. “I remember thinking I had never heard anything like it before.” He sighed. “For that matter, I don’t seem to remember much of anything. Ow.” 

Gabrielle had punched him in the shoulder as she muttered, “Concentrate.”

“Right.”

He could picture the soft glow coming from the hut’s window. It was that light, along with the music, that had attracted his attention as he walked through the woods. He had been travelling at night, in a hurry to catch up with Hercules, carrying a lantern even though the moon was full. When he had seen the light, he hadn’t intended to approach it but the sound of the flute, and the strange singing, had drawn him in.

Gabrielle, her voice sweet and true, began to sing the tune. After a moment, Iolaus joined in, not using words, just vowel sounds to try to imitate whatever they had heard the night before.

“Not exactly a siren song,” Iolaus said after a they finished their impromptu duet, “since it attracted you, too.”

“There were a few people here, weren’t there?”

“Half a dozen, maybe. It wasn’t crowded but I wasn’t alone.”

“Whoever was playing the pipes was sitting in shadows by the door.”

“And everyone was singing along.”

Iolaus felt a cold hand run down his spine. There was no question now, if both of them remembered the same thing. Someone had done something, put some kind of spell on them, that had changed them, damaged their memories and, Iolaus was now certain, somehow altered them and their relationships to the people around them.

Standing up, he crossed the small room to place his hands down on the rough plank between the barrels. He stared down at his hands, no details visible in the gloom, but he wasn’t really looking at his hands.

The hut had been close and warm but when he had seen the people, indistinct in the smoky light, drinking from tankards, he had felt his tongue cleave to the roof of his mouth. He had come through the doorway, not even nodding to the other occupants of the room, and walked directly to where he was standing now.

That in itself was odd, he thought. Normally, he was a gregarious man. He was also a cautious one. He should have checked the room carefully, to see who held weapons or looked likely to fight. He would have greeted anyone who met his eye politely, and he would have looked to see if there were any women who interested him. 

Then he remembered. There had been a woman.

He could picture her standing there, behind the bar, with hair so black that no light reflected off it, her full lips parted over her large teeth. The nails of her hands were long and painted dark. He noticed them as she placed the cup in front of him.

“Discord.”

Behind him, he heard Gabrielle gasp. “No, Strife.”

“Oh, great.” Iolaus shook his head. “If you got the drink from Strife and I got the drink from Discord. . .”

“Then they are working together.”

Their eyes met as they pondered the wonder and the horror of such a ghastly situation. And as they stared at each other, the world fell back into place.

“You. . .” Gabrielle pointed at Iolaus. “You’re Hercules’ partner, not me!”

“You’re with Xena. And we are in deep shit!”

Iolaus looked down at his black clothes, hoping that he was dressed in his usual ragged violet vest. He wasn’t. So apparently just remembering what was right wasn’t enough to set things right.

“Gabrielle.”

“Yes?”

“We need to explain this somehow.”

“I know. How?”

A smile quirked the corner of Iolaus’ mouth. “You’re supposed to be a bard, right? And I know I am a silver-tongued devil.”

“We’ll go back and you try to explain to Xena while I talk to Hercules.”

“No.” Iolaus was certain of nothing except one thing. Words would not be adequate to explain this impossible situation. He and Gabrielle would have to convince their partners based on faith and Iolaus knew Hercules trusted him with every fiber of his being. The same could not be said of Xena. “You have to tell Xena. She’ll believe you long before she’ll listen to me. Right now, she is back in Ares good graces and you’ll be able to reach her better than I ever could.”

Gabrielle nodded. She knew the brief history between her friend and this man. In spite of both their best efforts, there was still a tension between them that could be dangerous under the circumstances. In addition, she barely knew Hercules. They had met a few times but never gotten to know each other the way she knew Xena. Iolaus had to be the one to get through to his friend. 

“We’ll have to be careful,” she said, pulling her hood up as she stepped out of the hut. “We’ll be crossing what, for all intents and purposes, are enemy lines. I’m sure there are men in Hercules’ camp who would like to kill the Iolaus the Bloodrinker.”

“Frankly, Gabrielle, I’d rather be dead again than go on being Iolaus the Bloodrinker. I think he is a nasty piece of work and I would hate to find out where he got that nickname.”

The rain had let up and there were soldiers moving in both camps. Gabrielle gave Iolaus a brief hug before crossing the stream, carefully not looking at what lurked under the rock. As she pulled herself out of the water, she turned and waved, then ran.

Iolaus stopped for moment, panting, wondering if there was any hope at all. Whatever curse Strife and Discord had placed on him was powerful, enough to change the entire world. How could one wet, tired, confused mortal, whose head was starting to pound again, possibly set things back the way they had been? Sighing, he realized whether he succeeded or not, he had to try because he was not going to remain the vicious plaything of Ares and the enemy of Hercules.

Before he could even start up the small bluff, he heard the sound of several people circling behind him. Lifting his hands over his head, he said, as boldly as he dared, “Take me to Hercules.”

His wish was fulfilled, although not with the alacrity he would have preferred. By the time the Amazons handed him over the royal guards, he was bruised and bleeding. In this world, it seemed, Iolaus the Bloodrinker was not popular among the women warriors. When he was finally thrown on to the floor of Jason’s tent, he had to stop and spit blood before he could talk.

“Do you know what that is?” he heard Iphicles shout at Hercules. “Do you know what that monster has done to satisfy his god? I can’t believe you trust him. This had to be a scheme of some kind. . .”

“Silence.” That voice was Jason’s. Iolaus was finding it difficult enough to kneel and not collapse on the canvas beneath him, let alone lift his head to see his former leader. He didn’t think he could stand to see Jason looking at him with the loathing he had seen in everyone’s else’s faces. “So, Hercules. This is your prisoner.”

Someone grabbed a handful of his hair and yanked his head painfully back. 

“Where,” hissed Hercules through clenched teeth, “is Gabrielle?”

“She went back to Xena. Herc. . .”

Before he had any chance to explain anything, Iolaus felt himself lifted by the throat again.

“If you have hurt her.” Hercules’s eyes blazed with fury.

“Hercules.” Jason sounded tired. “He can’t tell you anything if you strangle him. And since you were the one who wanted us to listen to him, maybe you better let him speak.”

“I do not want to listen to Iolaus the Bloodthirsty!” cried Iphicles, reaching for his sword. “I just want his head!”

“It’s Bloodrinker.” More than tired. Weary. Weary in body and soul. Jason sounded as bad as he had after the death of his family. “Now shut up. Hercules, put him down.”

For the second time that day, Hercules dropped a gasping Iolaus to the ground. 

“Please.” Iolaus was on his hands and knees, trying to find the strength to stand. “You have to listen to me. It is going to sound crazy but, Herc, please, just hear me out.”

He waited, fully expecting Hercules to break his windpipe or for Iphicles to remove his head but nothing happened. After a moment, Iolaus raised his eyes and found Hercules staring at him, the look on his face no longer angry but puzzled.

“What did you call me?”

“Herc. It’s what I call you. You don’t let anybody else call you that, except me and Iphicles. And only Iphicles if you two aren’t on the outs over something stupid.”

“Hey!”

“Shut up, Iphicles.” Jason didn’t look as if he believed Iolaus but he did look interested. “Go on.”

Leaning back, his hands resting on his thighs, Iolaus looked directly at Hercules, knowing it wasn’t his words that had to get through to his friend. He spoke, his voice hoarse and soft.

“Gabrielle went to Xena to try to tell her what I’m trying to tell you. I know how it’s going to sound, but please don’t let your brother kill me until you’ve heard me out.”

Hercules looked as if his head hurt almost as much as Iolaus’. “Go on”

“Last night, everything was different. You and I were friends. Partners. Fighting Ares and every other source of evil in this world.”

“Oh, please.”

Jason glared at the speaker again. “Iphicles, I’m warning you.”

Iolaus licked his lips, tasting the blood. “Xena used to be evil but you helped her see the error of ways. You turned her to good. And Gabrielle is her partner, the friend who keeps her on the right path.”

“But. . .”

“Iphicles!”

Hercules was frowning, his eyes still locked on Iolaus’.

“Last night, both Gabrielle and I ended up in the same place, although not exactly at the same time. She was given a drink--a potion, really, by Strife. I got the same thing from Discord.”

“Now wait a minute!” Iphicles pushed past his brother to glare at Iolaus. “Strife and Discord are Ares’ minions which makes them your allies.”

“If I were allied with Ares, you would be right. But I’m not! That’s what the potion did. It put some kind of spell on Gabrielle and me that changed everything.”

Iphicles snorted. “Yeah, right.”

“I can prove it.” With an effort, Iolaus got to his feet. “Hercules. What did you do yesterday?”

“Huh?”

“Yesterday. What did you have for breakfast? Did you have tactical meetings with your staff? Did you let Gabrielle read to you from those scrolls of hers? Jason, can you tell me exactly what you did yesterday? Iphicles?”

The other three men were now looking at each other, bewilderment clear in their faces. Both Jason and Iphicles started to say something and stopped, turning back to Iolaus.

“You know,” said Hercules slowly, “yesterday is sort of hazy.”

“Jason.” 

The King started at hearing his name spoken so familiarly by someone he thought was his enemy. 

“Do you know why I am called Iolaus the Bloodthirsty?”

“I thought it was Bloodrinker?”

“Whatever. Well? Some particularly gruesome incident spring to mind to justify the name?”

Jason said nothing, tugging on his lower lip.

“Iphicles.”

“Who, me?”

“Why do you want to kill me? You sounded as if I did something personal to you. What was it?”

“Ah. . .”

“Can you even name a single instance when you actually remember going into battle against me?”

“Ah.”

“Iolaus.”

He turned. Hercules had moved slowly around him, circling him, studying him as carefully as if he were a work of art.

“You’re not wearing the right clothes.”

Iolaus’ knees nearly buckled in relief, although he knew both Jason and Iphicles found the remark as puzzling as anything Iolaus had said.

“No.” Iolaus smiled at Hercules, relieved when he got a faint smile in return. “I don’t normally wear black.”

“You wear this ratty vest, don’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“What in Tartarus is going on, Iolaus?”

Iolaus resisted the urge to hug his friend. “I don’t know, Herc. Like I said, some potion of Discord and Strife’s.”

“I’d like to know,” shouted an unexpected voice, “about that potion myself!”

With a flash of blue light, there were three additional people now standing in the crowded tent; Xena, her arm around Gabrielle’s shoulders, with a furious God of War behind them. An instant later, Jason and Iphicles vanished. Hercules spun, trying to decide if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

“Iolaus!” Gabrielle ran towards him. “What happened to you?”

“Amazons.” He accepted her embrace, trying to keep her from squeezing his bruised ribs too hard. “I take it you got through to Xena.”

“Yeah. Fortunately Ares didn’t show up until she started to remember.”

“And Ares,” snarled Ares, “wants to know what is going on himself.”

The god of war extended his arms. After a painfully bright blue flash, Discord and Strife were hanging from his grasp, both of them writhing. He gave them a shake but didn’t set either of them loose.

“Well?” he roared.

“Well.” Strife stopped struggling and hung there, crossing his arms almost casually, as if he were accustomed to hanging by his collar from his master’s grip. “It was really Discord’s idea.”

Still struggling, kicking and flailing like a furious fish, the goddess snarled, “It was your idiot idea. All that ridiculous philosophy. . .”

Ares roared and shook both of them again. “I want a straight answer!”

“Well, ah, boss,” began Strife, now crossing his legs so he appeared to be sitting comfortably in mid-air. “See, I heard this philosopher going on about how reality isn’t real but what we perceive it to be. Everything is perception,filtered through our senses, and the only way we know anything is real is to sense it and then interpret it. Our conscious minds. . .”

Ares shook them a third time. “I’m warning you. . .”

“All right.” Strife winked at the circle of men and women standing around him. “He’s the god of war, you know. Not wisdom.”

“Strife!”

Discord interrupted, having given up her struggles. “He thought if we could figure out a way to change how those two” she gestured at Iolaus and Gabrielle “saw themselves, everyone would see everything differently.”

“Actually,” muttered Strife, gnawing at his fingernails, “I had a different plan in mind. Gabrielle was supposed to be Xena’s bloodthirsty partner but it didn’t work out that way. Guess she just doesn’t have the right nature.”

“Argh!” Ares swung the two lesser gods, smashing their heads together with an audible crack and a flash of light, before tossing them on the ground. Iolaus could almost feel sorry for him. The god of war looked as confused as anyone. “Get to the point before I rip both of you into tiny little pieces and scatter you so far that it will take a hundred years for you to pull yourselves back together.”

“Right.” Discord stood up, straightening her garments. Strife continued to lie on the ground, rubbing his head. “We made up a potion that made him. . .” she pointed at Iolaus. “think he was Iolaus the Bloodthirsty.”

A chorus of voices corrected her. “Bloodrinker.”

“Whatever! He was supposed to Ares’ favorite mortal. She.” A long nail pointed at Gabrielle. “Was supposed to be Xena’s evil friend.”

From the ground, Strife muttered, “I guess we should have worked on it a little longer.”

“She just doesn’t have an evil nature,” said Xena with a smile, giving Gabrielle a hug.

“What gripes me,” continued Strife, as if he were having a conversation completely separate from everyone else, “is why it didn’t take. I thought we figured that if they stayed in character, so to speak, for a day and a night, they’d be stuck that way permanently.”

“Your fault.” Discord aimed a kick a her fellow god but he rolled out of the way in time. “They were supposed to be, what’s the word, sick after drinking.”

Ares, a pained looked briefly flickering across his face, said, “Hungover.”

“Right. The blondies were supposed to be hungover for most of that time, so they wouldn’t be thinking clearly, and when they recovered, the spell would stick. Apparently,” She shot a furious look at Strife, “He didn’t make it strong enough.”

“Wait.” Ares was frowning even more deeply, his effort to understand what had happened visible on his face. “So, if Iolaus had stayed hungover all day, he’d have stayed Iolaus the Bloodrinker.”

“Bloodthirsty,” corrected Hercules.

“No,” said Iolaus. “He’s right. Bloodrinker.”

Ares snarled, “What. Ever. So, I broke the spell when I cured his hangover.”

Discord and Strife both stared at him. Strife smiled his twisted smile as if to say, ‘see, it wasn’t my fault.’ Discord just screamed, “Why did you do that? You ruined everything!”

“Hey.” Ares’ face assumed an angrier expression, more in keeping with his usual demeanor. “The man was about to hurl in my temple. Nobody does that when I’m around.”

“Ironic,” muttered Hercules to Iolaus. “You can make all the blood sacrifices you want but nobody throws up around Ares. He can’t stand it.”

Iolaus, so glad to feel his friend standing close to him, whispering confidentially to him the way he always had, was too happy to answer.

“What about her?” Discord jerked her thumb towards Gabrielle. “She wasn’t losing her lunch in your temple so how come she got the cure?”

Hercules raised his hand. “Ah, a little potion of my own that I learned from Asclepias.”

“Hey.” Iolaus jabbed Hercules in the ribs. “You never cured my hangovers.”

“You always deserve them.” 

“SHUT UP!” When the god of war bellowed, he could make the heavens shake. “ALL OF YOU!”

Ares paced the limited space available in the tent before spinning around to point a shaking finger at Discord and Strife. Discord straightened, giving him a look of contemptuous defiance. Strife, on the other hand, lay back on the ground, his arms crossed across his scrawny chest, in imitation of a mortal corpse.

“You two were messing with my mind, too, weren’t you?”

“Well. . .” Discord looked less defiant. “Technically, yes. We didn’t know if you’d realize what was going on or not but figured since you’d be happy with the outcome. . .”

“SHUT UP!!!” A ball of lightning formed in Ares’ hand. “I do not like anyone tricking me for any reason! I don’t like not knowing what in Tartarus is going on! And when I start a war, I want to know it is my own idea, not some stupid spell you two idiots dreamed up!”

Discord vanished in a flash, shrieking. Strife was taking a different approach. He was slowly and quietly dissolving. His plan didn’t work. Ares threw another bolt at him and Strife vanished.

As Strife disappeared, so did the tent and every sign of impending war.

Blinking in the sunlight, Iolaus found himself standing in a field above a meandering stream, dressed in his usual garb, Hercules at his side. A few paces away, Xena and Gabrielle stood side-by-side. All of them, including an angry Ares, still looked confused.

“Look!” shouted Gabrielle, pointing at Iolaus. “We’re all back to normal.”

The four friends hugged each other in various combination, all talking at once as they tried to figure out exactly what had happened to them. 

“I knew something was wrong,” Iolaus was trying to explain, “when Ares gave me this big ol’ hug. . .”

Hercules was saying, “I just felt so wrong about the whole army and battle preparations that I was knew something wasn’t right. . .”

Gabrielle was clutching at Xena as she said, “Hercules said he wanted nothing more than to see you destroyed and I was sure that wasn’t how he felt and I knew it wasn’t how I felt. . .”

“Oh, shut up!” Ares managed to snarl and sound sulky at the same time. “So you were all so brilliant that you knew something was wrong. Bullshit! If it weren’t for him. . .” Ares gestured at Iolaus, sending out a residual spark that gave him a painful shock, “there would have been a spectacular battle.”

“Maybe.” Hercules grinned at his half brother. “Or maybe not. With the rain we were having, I don’t think much of anything would have happened besides a soggy retreat. I suspect Zeus knew what those two twits of yours were up to and made sure that things were put right.”

To everyone’s surprise, Ares shrugged. “You may be right.” Then he got mad again, smacking his hand against his forehead. “Those idiots! I have been trying to raise an army against Perdicalas--you would be on my side on this one, little brother. He is a miserable piece of work. He poisons water supplies and kidnaps the children of his enemies. Not my kind of warrior at all. And yesterday I finally got someone to take the bastard on. . .” Ares’ voice was going up in furious pitch and he was pacing again, bolts of blue shooting off his finger tips as he gestured. “and today he was one of my lieutenants! If that stupid spell screwed up my plans. . .”

For a moment, he started to fade as strode away from the three mortals and one half god. Then he turned and gave Iolaus an unexpected grin. “You made a pretty damn good villain. Pity that part of the plan didn’t work out.” He winked at Xena. “It was good having you back, if only for a while.”

The god of war vanished in a cloud of muttered obscenities.

“Wow,” said Gabrielle. “What an idea. That what we are is what we perceive it to be, that reality is only a construction of our senses. You know. . .”

She started babbling, unaware that no one else was listening. Hercules and Iolaus grinned at each other.

“You look awful in black,” Hercules volunteered. “Or maybe it was the just the wet hair. You looked lousy anyway.”

“Thanks.” Iolaus rubbed his throat, then checked his torso. The bruises inflicted by the Amazons had vanished. “So, does this mean it never happened or did it happen but not really.”

Hercules shrugged. “That’s one for the philosophers.”

Xena grabbed at Iolaus as Hercules started wandering around, trying to find the camp he had made before Strife and Discord turned everything around. She pulled him close to her and hissed, “If you ever tell anyone what happened in that tent today. . .”

Iolaus held up his hands in surrender. “No problem. Then I’d have to admit I turned you down and no way would I ever want anyone knowing that.”

They smiled cautiously at each other.

“You did make a pretty good Iolaus the Bloodthirsty.”

Gabrielle, who was walking past, still mumbling to herself, corrected, “Bloodrinker.”

Hercules looked up from his search. “Whatever.”

\--April 2000


End file.
